


He definitely noticed you.

by newtypeshadow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Full Moon, Full Shift Werewolves, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mentioned Jackson Whittemore, Mentioned Lydia Martin, Mentioned Sheriff Stilinski, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pre-Slash, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Shrieking Shack, Unrequited Crush, mentioned Cora Hale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 08:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15769932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtypeshadow/pseuds/newtypeshadow
Summary: Stiles was following the sounds of movement to the only open doorway when the screaming started. The man’s agonized cries were augmented by the sound of breaking bones. Stiles was through the doorway with his wand out before it occurred to him to be afraid, but by then it was too late.Derek Hale—fifth year, walking wet dream, star quidditch beater, Gryffindor’s most eligible bachelor, and Stiles’s crush since first year—was curled up on the floor and turning into a wolf.Derek was awerewolf.Derek was a rampaging monster that killed people on the full moon...and he was looking right at Stiles.OR: the Hogwarts AU where Stiles follows Derek past the Whomping Willow and into the Shrieking Shack on the night of a full moon.





	He definitely noticed you.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [AU August](https://lnc2.tumblr.com/post/174925809860/au-yeah-august) prompt "Hogwarts AU".

He’d done it! Stiles had finally made it past the Whomping Willow and followed Derek Hale to…wherever this place was. He’d come up through the floor in his invisibility cloak to find himself in a building of some kind, a house by the looks of it, with boarded up windows and smashed furniture and scratches gouged into the wallpaper.

Stiles was following the sounds of movement to the only open doorway when the screaming started. The man’s agonized cries were augmented by the sound of breaking bones. Stiles was through the doorway with his wand out before it occurred to him to be afraid, but by then it was too late.

Derek Hale—fifth year, walking wet dream, star quidditch beater, Gryffindor’s most eligible bachelor, and Stiles’s crush since first year—was curled up on the floor and turning into a wolf.

Derek was a _werewolf_.

Derek was a rampaging monster that killed people on the full moon, and would even attack his own mother when he was a wolf. Derek Hale, who acted like a heavy to prevent fights, but had delicately rescued a grasshopper from the common room and walked it all the way out of the building in his cupped hands to set it free, the Derek Hale who told Jackson to knock it off when he was being mean to Stiles and Scott in second year, was gone, and in his place was a massive, red-eyed, black wolf that was glaring in Stiles’s direction and getting to its feet, looking every inch an apex predator.

Stiles was relieved the wolf couldn’t see him until its red eyes caught and held his.

It could definitely see him.

The hood of his invisibility cloak had fallen to his shoulders. Shit!

“Nice Derek,” Stiles said, wand shaking in his hand as he tried to back through the doorway and escape the way he’d come. “It’s just me, we’re in the same house, you, uh, you recognize me, right? Fourth year, if you even know who I am you probably think I talk too much—well, pretty much everybody thinks I talk too much, tbh, which is… Uh, you know what, look, I _really_ don’t want to hurt you, but—”

The wolf pounced.

Stiles landed hard on his back under the werewolf’s massive paws, dropping his wand on the way down. He heard it clatter and roll somewhere to his right, but couldn’t make himself look for it because the wolf was growling right in his face, lip curling to reveal a huge mouth of long, sharp teeth. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit this is how I die,” Stiles whined high in his throat.

The wolf bent fearfully close.

Stiles turned his head and squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the moment its mouth opened to rip his throat out.

But instead of teeth, he felt a cold nose sniff along his neck, then the warm rasp of a tongue lick a long stripe from his throat up to his ear. The next thing the wolf did Stiles could only describe as, well, nuzzling. Then, with a final sniff, the wolf released him and parked itself right in the open doorway, blocking Stiles’s escape.

Stiles took some time to process that he _wasn’t dead_ , and Derek Hale, werewolf, had not ripped his throat out with his bajillion pointy teeth. That was good. Not being dead was good. Cautiously, Stiles rolled to his knees and faced the werewolf. A quick glance around revealed his wand had rolled to a stop against a mattress shoved into the corner of the room and made up with clean-looking bedding. Stiles edged his way towards it and farther from the wolf.

The wolf watched him with red, red eyes.

“Good,” Stiles cooed, “Nice Derek.”

The wolf growled.

Stiles winced. “Yeah, bad word choice, you’re right. I should leave.”

The wolf got to its feet and growled again.

“You’re right, I’m totally not supposed to be here, so I’ll just get my wand and—”

The wolf leapt at him.

“Shit!” Stiles threw himself out of the wolf’s path and wound up wandless on the mattress, backed into the far corner of the room. Wolf-Derek immediately _picked up Stiles’s wand_ with his _giant wolfy teeth_ (“Don’t break it don’t break it don’t break it please dude that’s my wand”) and dropped it, unharmed (“Thank you sweet wizard baby Jesus”) onto Derek’s robes, right next to Derek’s wand (willow bark, phoenix feather, 11 inches—not that Stiles would admit to knowing that, not after Derek’s twin Cora gave that Ravenclaw second-year who sent Derek a valentine a shake-down worthy of Stiles’s dad in interrogation mode). Then wolf-Derek just…laid down. On the mattress next to Stiles. Between him and wand-wielding salvation. And when Stiles tried to creep off the bed, Derek growled at him.

When a creature that looks like a direwolf growls at you, you fucking pay attention and do what it wants.

So Stiles stayed in his corner and tried not to fidget or jiggle his leg; it was late and his ADHD meds had worn off because usually he’d be in bed by now.

Not with a werewolf.

In his own bed.

Sleeping.

After what felt like hours spent with wolf-Derek sleeping peacefully beside him, Stiles’s panic subsided and boredom and fatigue took its place. Fear had keyed Stiles up, but now that he was pretty sure wolf-Derek deserved a “not all werewolves” hashtag—

(Stiles will never again try to explain Twitter to non-muggles; he’d just as soon kiss a wookie.)

(Stiles will never again try to explain Star Wars to non-muggles; it only ends in tears.)

—and wouldn’t eviscerate him and roll in his entrails, Stiles was reasonably sure if he stayed in the bed Derek wouldn’t kill him.

So Stiles edged his way down the wall and until he was supine on the mattress, and tried to calm his racing thoughts enough to fall asleep.

Next to a werewolf that, according to his DADA textbook, should’ve been mindless and bloodthirsty and killed him on sight.

Sure, Derek wouldn’t let Stiles leave, but to be honest, if someone found out Stiles had a huge crush on Derek Hale while Stiles was mute and couldn’t swear them to secrecy, Stiles wouldn’t let them leave either, not until he could talk again and make sure they’d keep quiet.

(Okay, so the sorting hat _may_ have strongly considered sorting him into Slytherin. For, like, three full minutes. Out of four.)

Eventually, after who knows how long, Stiles fell asleep.

*

He awoke briefly when he felt a weight on his chest and shoulder: the wolf’s massive paw over his heart, massive head pillowed on his shoulder, cold, lupine nose tucked into the crook of his neck. “If you bite me in your sleep I’ll fucking haunt you,” Stiles mumbled. He pulled his arm out from under Derek’s massive body and curled his fingers into Derek’s fur. _It’s actually soft_ , he thought, and slid back into sleep.

*

Stiles woke up in a wet dream made reality: Derek Hale—human, naked, perfect—was wrapped around him like a giant squid.

Stiles’s dick was fully onboard with this scenario.

Stiles told his chub to get lost before Derek woke up and murdered him—Derek still had both their wands—or worse, decided to avoid Stiles for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, when Stiles tried to extricate himself, human Derek gave a wolf-like grumble and his arms—and legs, oh my god—tightened until Stiles kept still.

Derek’s movement made Stiles aware of his right hand, still trapped between them. When Stiles fell asleep, his hand had been pressed against Derek’s side, his fingers curled into the wolf’s thick fur. The heel of Stiles’s hand was now pressed against warm, lightly-haired human skin; the hair his fingers were tangled in, however, felt distinctly coarse and wiry.

Stiles’s bones went hot and liquid, like firewhiskey felt going down. He tried to stifle a moan, but must not have succeeded, because Derek mumbled something into his neck and started shifting into wakefulness. Stiles clenched both hands into fists and prayed he wasn’t blushing cherry red from torso to ears when Derek opened his eyes.

Stiles was not that lucky.

Thankfully, when Derek’s hazel eyes opened and met his, then darted between them assessingly, Derek reddened down to his neck, which was as far down as Stiles could see in their current position, and rolled away to crouch on the floor and grab his outer robe with what Stiles was pretty sure was superhuman speed. “Dear Merlin, that happened,” Derek said, sounding panicked.

“Yup,” Stiles said, popping the “p”, as he sat up. “I was there. Thanks for not killing me, by the way.”

“What? _Killing_ you? Why would I kill you?” Derek was so indignant he actually looked at Stiles again, like he’d forgotten he was naked.

“Uh, ‘cause you were a werewolf? On the full moon? Mindless rampaging death machine? That ringing any bells?”

Derek’s eyebrows climbed.

Stiles tried to suppress his desire to smooth them back down from judgmental incredulity with his thumb. “Hey,” he said, trying to do it with words instead, “we covered werewolves in DADA last year. I did a paper on them—it was werewolves or dementors, I picked werewolves, I know Cora picked dementors, actually, she told Professor Argent _to his face_ that the book descriptions of werewolves were full of shit and got detention for— _oh my god_ wait, was our werewolves unit full of shit? Was Cora telling the truth? Oh my god!”

But Derek wasn’t looking at Stiles, he was looking at where Stiles’s hand had gone from flailing to wrapped around his bicep.

Stiles couldn’t read Derek’s expression. It worried him enough to yank his hand away and apologize, profusely and immediately.

When Stiles let go, Derek kinda shook his head, and met Stiles’s eyes. “She wasn’t lying,” he said after a moment where it seemed he was puzzling something out. Probably what Stiles had said—Stiles recognized that expression, he’d seen it on damn near every face he ever opened his mouth around; his brain and brain-to-mouth filter were a gift and a curse, respectively. “What’s in our textbooks about werewolves is bigoted wizard propaganda. We’re not mindless killers during the full moon, we just follow our instincts more. Most people don’t automatically want to kill people who aren’t attacking them; werewolves are the same. We don’t mindlessly attack people because we’re wolves. We’re just faster to defend ourselves, and we don’t need our wands to do it.” Derek shifted uncomfortably, then pulled his robe around his waist and grabbed the rest of his clothes from the floor. “I’m gonna go…uh…” The back of his neck reddened as he stood and retreated to the room the Whomping Willow tunnel opened into.

Stiles side-shimmied across the bed and pocketed his wand. “Cool. I’ll just…be in here.” Trying not to imagine Derek putting on his clothes to the tune of the rustling fabric sounds in the other room.

In record time, Derek appeared back in the doorway. His wand was out. “You can’t tell anyone,” he said sharply. “What I am. What you saw. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.” Derek looked intense, like he’d use that wand on Stiles if he didn’t promise—but also like he really didn’t want to.

Stiles felt offended to his bones. “Who would I even—”

“Your friend Scott. That Slytherin girl you have a crush on…Lydia?” Derek glared at him. “You can’t tell _anyone,_ Stiles.”

Stiles groaned and flopped dramatically onto his side, burying his face and his shame in his arm. “Ugh, does everyone know? Is it obvious?” Oh god, did Derek know about Stiles’s crush on _him_ , too? “Why didn’t you just kill me yesterday? I thought you were _nice_.”

Derek huffed, and a half-second later was pulling Stiles to his feet. “Nobody knows, Stiles, just—promise me you won’t tell anyone I’m a werewolf, okay?”

Stiles’s face felt hot with embarrassment. Derek wasn’t even bothering to point the wand at him anymore, ugh. He sighed. “My lips are sealed,” he said, and mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key locking them closed. “I promise.”

Derek gave him a hard look, then nodded, relaxed entirely, and stowed his wand. “Good,” he said, the ghost of a smile curling the corners of his lips. “We should go back. It’s almost breakfast.”

“Wait, you’re not gonna tell anyone about me and, uh, Lydia, right?”

“No,” Derek said, sounding offended.

Stiles relaxed too. “Cool. Thanks, dude.”

“Dude?”

“Muggle expression.”

Derek shrugged and led Stiles back through the Whomping Willow tunnel.

It was only at breakfast, when a Gryffindor in Derek’s year who, like Derek, had a sibling in Stiles’s year, didn’t know who Stiles was or that he was sitting in Stiles’s spot—directly across from Scott, where he always sat—that Stiles thought to wonder why Derek not only knew Stiles on sight, but also the names of his best friend and secret Slytherin crush.

Stiles frowned as he took the seat next to Scott instead. Then he looked down the table at Derek. When Derek noticed Stiles looking at him, his ears pinked and he jerked his head down and then away, facing his friend Boyd and the other end of the table. Boyd raised an eyebrow at Derek, then looked down the table, saw Stiles watching him, and looked back at Derek with contained amusement. Whatever Boyd said to Derek then made him stiffen and brought the flush down to his cheeks. Boyd actually grinned.

That couldn’t possibly mean what Stiles wanted it to mean…right?

Boyd glanced at Stiles again, and said something to Derek that made him rip a chunk off his toast and hurl it at Boyd’s face.

Still grinning, Boyd shook his head with evident mockery and tucked back into his food.

A few moments later, Derek glanced furtively back down the table at Stiles—and froze when their eyes caught.

Stiles wasn’t in Gryffindor for nothing. He smiled sunnily at Derek, even gave a small wave before he realized he was holding his syrupy fork in that hand, blanched, and slammed the fork back on the table, smile replaced by mortification.

Derek grin at Stiles’s shame was smaller, shyer, and tinged with what Stiles would call fondness if it were literally anyone else looking at him that way.

Stiles’s mouth dropped open in shock. He felt a flush climb into his cheeks.

That’s when Derek’s grin burned its way into something cocky, sexy, knowing. Its heat scorched all the way down Stiles’s spine.

Guh _damn_. Stiles couldn’t have looked away if he tried.

Derek finally, mercifully, put his sexiness away (well, he dialed it down slightly—Stiles was pretty sure his sexiness didn’t have an off switch) and turned away from Stiles and back to his friends.

Scott’s elbow startled Stiles out of his pin-balling thoughts and into a full-body flail that nearly upended his glass of pumpkin juice and the pitcher it rode in on. “Dude, you were staring again,” Scott hissed at Stiles’s questioning look. “I tried to stop you sooner, but you were totally checked out. You okay now?”

Stiles tried to loosen his collar. He felt hot all over, like his skin had to stretch to contain him and he might burst through at any moment. “I’m good,” he rasped, then cleared his throat and started grinning, wide and happy, like an idiot.

“I made sure nobody over here paid attention, but I didn’t get a good look at Derek,” Scott was saying. “Do you think he noticed you?” Scott checked worriedly up the table like the awesome best friend he was.

“Oh, he definitely noticed me,” Stiles said. His body rocked with a short, shocked laugh. “I, uh. I think he liked what he saw.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third _Teen Wolf_ fanfic ever, and first posted on AO3, so if you enjoyed it ~~and want to help ease my anxious paranoia about writing with more fanfiction than show under my belt as of yet~~ , do leave kudos and/or a comment to let me know. ^_^


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